All I Ask
by SerpentineShadows
Summary: ...is that you'll be there for me in my darkest moments. Post-FE10.
1. Crime

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Path of Radiance, Radiant Dawn, etc._

* * *

When Sothe busted down the door of Micaiah's bedroom, his normally calm demeanor slipping, he did not expect the sight that greeted him.

Micaiah struggled on the floor of their shared bedroom, a large gaping hole in her side (_caused by a sharp set of teeth_, Sothe noted,_ not unlike an animal's_). Her fingers were clutching her chest as she opened her mouth over and over again in an attempt to scream.

In an instant, Sothe was at her side, holding her hands (_oh, how cold they were_) with a tender care reserved specifically for her. Sothe's heart thumped in his chest (_calm down, be cool, she'd be okay, she'd be just fine_) so loud he was sure Micaiah could hear it. A yell for help was torn from his mouth, all rational thought gone (_and he didn't care how desperate he sounded_), because he'd lose her soon if they didn't hurry up already. His hands were trembling (_but it didn't matter_) because (_oh, Ashera_) she was losing so much blood, and her skin had never looked so pale.

Even in her pain, Micaiah saw Sothe and her mouth twitched upwards in a smile, her fingers curling slightly to hold Sothe's. She was no longer trying to scream, but her mouth still moved, forming words. Sothe leaned closer, and he could hear her struggling to say: "Don't worry, Sothe. I'll be fine."

He could see the tears rolling down her cheeks–from the pain? because she didn't want to leave him yet?–trailing down her cheeks, and it wasn't until several drops landed on their joined hands did he notice that he was also crying.

By now, several of the guards had come running and were standing in the doorway, looking on in shock. _What are you guys waiting for?_ Sothe thought, frustrated, in the deep recesses of his mind. He spared a second to shoot them an irritated glance, and they seemed to have gotten the message because they immediately spurred into action.

Once again, Micaiah and Sothe were alone. Her brilliant eyes were slipping closed (_he was getting closer to losing her with each second_), a sad little smile on her lips. And then just before her eyes completely shut, she whispered (this time with a resigned undertone): "I'm sorry, Sothe."

As Sothe picked up Micaiah's limp body (_why oh why did she have to say that, she wouldn't die, he'd never forgive himself if she did_), he yelled for a healer, priest–anyone who could save Micaiah. The tears were still rolling down his face, and an ache near the left side of his chest persisted, but all he could focus on was Micaiah and saving her.

* * *

Several hours later, Sothe was pacing outside a particular room, running his fingers through emerald green hair agitatedly. Micaiah was inside, being cared for by several of Daein's most talented Saints. Whispering under his breath, Sothe repeated "she's going to be okay" over and over again. (_Pale unhealthy skin, tarnished by the crimson blood flowing from her wound. The fading light in Micaiah's beautiful eyes as she slowly began to d–_

"It's going to okay," Sothe insisted. "She'll be fine."

The door behind him creeped open; Sothe's eyes immediately snapped to the meek-looking Bishop standing in the doorway. (_Lying on the table, Micaiah appeared to be asleep when in the harsh, harsh reality she was dead, and she'd never be alive again._) When the Bishop squeaked uncertainly, Sothe shook himself from the gloomy thoughts invading his mind. Allowing himself to be consumed by his thoughts (especially such depressing ones) would interfere with decision-making (_and there would be decision-making soon to come, like who was the mysterious perpetrator of this incident?_), and that would cost him dearly.

"She's not in critical condition anymore, sir," the Bishop said, gaining confidence as he spoke. "You're allowed to see her, but the Queen is still fragile at the moment, so we plead you to not stress her out."

Before he had even finished speaking, Sothe had pushed past the robed man and hurried to Micaiah's side. The Saints, Bishops, and Priests quietly exited the room, leaving the two to share a private moment. The moment he saw Micaiah's still form and closed eyes, the lingering vestiges of his fear confined him in their cold grasp. (_She was dead, and what had he done to help? Nothing, he was useless from the start and was still useless now._) Then, Micaiah smiled weakly at him and her warm hand held his, snapping him out of his daze.

"You're alive," he breathed in relief.

"I am."

With those two words, the buildup of stress, irritation, anxiety, and annoyance over the past few hours instantly melted away. The pain in his chest was gone, shoved to the side by the flood of warmth spreading throughout his body. Sothe hugged Micaiah, careful to not jostle her, and she hugged back.

"Don't worry, Sothe. I'll be fine." (_Lips as pale as her deathly white skin, though stained with her blood, whispered comforting words for Sothe._)

He held her tighter, burying his face in her silver hair. Sothe enjoyed the pleasant feeling in his heart as he embraced his "sister". Her gentle smile and gestures soothed him, reassured him (_that, no, she wasn't lying on her deathbed, smelling of peaches, and he wasn't hallucinating_), and Sothe vowed whoever had hurt her would pay full price plus interest for laying a hand on Micaiah.

* * *

**A/N****:** Okay, so I took down _Retribution_ recently because 1) I didn't like the way it was going, 2) truth be told, I had no idea who the main character was, and 3) I wanted to completely change it. I've been on-and-off thinking about the idea for a while (and at first I wanted to do this from Tibarn or Naesala's POV), so I have finally sat myself down (after a few miserable weeks of sickness) to write this. As a side note, if you read what little of _Retribution_ there was, you'll notice a change in style of writing (at least I think there is). I know the parentheses and stuff are really distracting; I just felt inserting them would make his desperation...clearer. And this is still Serpentine, who is a lazy procrastinator that should work harder. If you're reading this, now you know who to direct your praises/constructive-criticism/insults at.


	2. Dissonance

Yet another set of hours later found Sothe back inside Micaiah's bedroom. The blood had been wiped clean, the smell erased by opening the window (_through which the offender could've crawled_) and planting flowers around the room. Still, bile rose up his throat; he didn't understand why it kept happening, but terrible visions of Micaiah's death resurfaced.

(_Gasping for her life, her amber eyes fading, Micaiah writhed on the floor. She was dying in front of him and he wanted to save her, but he couldn't move. Paralyzed, he could do nothing but watch as she succumbed to death._)

"Sothe? What's wrong?" Micaiah's melodic voice provided a much-needed distraction.

"I–" He yearned to tell her, but the words froze in his throat. (_He was suffocating, drowning on land._)

Micaiah knelt beside him, a gentle hand pressing on his back. Concern for his wellbeing shone in those (_dead, dull, never-to-be-alive-again_) eyes of hers even though she was the one who had been on the brink of death not a day ago; yet again his worries melted away, and Sothe was reminded of how wonderful Micaiah was.

"It's nothing. I'm fine," he choked out. "What about–"

Velvety lips pressed against his forehead for a moment. Then, thin arms wrapped around him in a warm embrace. An instinctual reaction brought his hands to her silky hair. The faint scent of peaches he often associated with Micaiah filled his nose. (_The hair slipping through his fingers was coarse and rough, as dead as the body he embraced. Her lips were rotting pieces of flesh, and a putrid smell clung to her. With a gasp, he pushed her away. She was dead because of that huge hole in her side; horror raced up his spine upon realization: he had been embracing her, that. Glassy eyes glared at him when a raspy voice, not Micaiah's–hers was sweet and beautiful and soothing to his ears–said, "What's the matter, Sothe?"_)

Sothe blinked and Micaiah (_alive and well_) peered at him, her mouth moving. It took several seconds for him to comprehend her words (_the exact same as he had heard in that terribly hoarse voice_).

"I'm sorry." She grabbed one of his hands. "Did I make you uncomfortable?"

That quiet, slightly-hurt tone made him relax (_since when had he been that tense?_). "No, that's not it. I was just..." His gaze drifted to her side (_she's alright, she's fine, the hole's gone_).

"Worried for me? I'm fine, Sothe. I'm right here, and I won't be leaving anytime soon.

"Sorry, I–"

"There's no need to apologize. I understand what you're feeling. I never said being worried was a bad thing."

"Right." Sothe breathed deeply, and a sombre atmosphere replaced the easy-going one. "You're alive, but we have to make sure this won't happen again. By eliminating the enemy."

His steely tone made Micaiah frown. _Say sorry and make her happy again_, a part of him nagged. _Don't upset her._ The other, more persistent side convinced himself that he was right: _I'm helping her to ensure no one else will ever hurt her; I need to. What kind of person idly sits by while his friend was injured and nearly died?_

"Sothe," she said, the warning edge in her voice snapped him back to reality. "Revenge is unnecessary."

"Do you know who hurt you? Did you seem him or her?" Sothe demanded.

Micaiah remained stubborn, looking at him sternly like a parent would do to a child. "Sothe..."

"Please," he begged (_and he only would for Micaiah because she was that important_).

Micaiah was left with no choice when faced with Sothe's sincerity and those almost-puppy eyes. Her fingers drifted over her side (_where it looked like someone had taken a huge bite out of her_) as she admitted: "I didn't see him. Or her. I was attacked from behind."

"But you know that wound looked like a laguz did it," Sothe said, barely a tremor in his voice. "Someone from the Beast Tribe maybe."

This time, Sothe's statement made Micaiah scowl. (_The hard lines etched in her face ruined her features. Dismay took over him as he noted the pure hate directed at him in her eyes._) "Sothe, how could you say something like that?"

(_He was desperate now, sure that his next sentence could possibly destroy his friendship and marriage with Micaiah._) "I didn't mean to."

Inwardly, Sothe despaired. His response had come out gruff and to the point, not apologetic at all. He squeezed his eyes shut, hearing Micaiah's sigh.

"I don't want to admit it, but you might be right," Micaiah half-whispered. At this point, Sothe's eyes were wide open with shock. Had his expression–whatever it had been–caused Micaiah to sympathize with him (_even though he'd made such an uncouth remark_)? "I could...hear snarling."

If possible, Sothe's eyes widened. Relations between Gallia and Daein had never been great, especially since Daein had been founded on the belief that _sub-humans_ were inferior to beorc. Still, he never dreamed one of the beast laguz would attack Micaiah (_there was no reason to except for the fact that they had sided with Begnion, but even then there had been a justified reason: the Blood Pact_).

"I know what you're thinking, Sothe." Micaiah's voice had a disappointed tone to it along with a trace of bitterness. "Gallia did _not_ do it. There's no way. Everything has been peaceful since we defeated Ashera, and I'm not letting your suspicions sour our relationship with Gallia! We can't afford to have a war; I don't want our people to suffer more because of it. Do you understand?"

For the first time since Micaiah had entered the room, Sothe's face was contorted into a frown. He slowly gathered his thoughts and spoke steadily (_so as to not reveal his distress at her lack of faith_): "I never said anything about Gallia." _At least, not explicitly._ "I just thought the teeth marks on your wounds looked similar to that of an animal."

Again, Sothe mentally hit himself. His words had come out cold, and Micaiah might interpret his last sentence as calling the laguz animals. (_His words were heartless? What about hers, so much undeserved hate thrown at him?_) Sothe shook himself of those thoughts and focused back on Micaiah. Oddly enough, she remained silent.

"You didn't think I was going to go to Gallia and start a fight, did you?"

She sighed, her expression turning from a frown to a resigned smile. "No, of course not. I apologize for–"

"You don't need to," Sothe interrupted. "I just want prevent whoever hurt you from hurting you again, so we're figuring out who it is. You were bitten in the side, so it was an animal or a beast laguz, maybe even a wolf laguz. I don't think it was the Gallians or any of Queen Nailah's people, but the culprit being an animal is unlikely. If we had more information, I could probably figure it out."

Micaiah reached for his hand, smiling gently at him. "Don't overthink it, Sothe. Just decide which one you think is most likely. Of course, we won't act based on our assumptions, but it's nice to have an idea."

(_That gentleness radiated from her even in the coffin, lifeless and cold and...dead. He caressed her face, swallowing down the tears–_

"You'll do fine, Sothe."

He was, once again, shaken from his trance. Trembling with fear inside, Sothe nodded, wondering what was wrong with him and why he kept imagining Micaiah's death.

* * *

**A/N:** Yay, I updated the day after. It's getting late and I should go to sleep, but first I'll say thank you to **melry** and **Gunlord500** for reviewing and then I'll say I have no idea why but I keep thinking that Micaiah smells like peaches. Also, I have finally laid down my plot somewhere not in my head, which is why the title and summary have changed.

After a while, I decided to not make Micaiah and Sothe wife and husband because it feels so awkward calling them that (I feel like Sothe's much younger than Micaiah), so yeah (there still are some mistakes).


	3. Nightmare

Sothe laid on his bed, staring at the red and black banners of Daein hanging in his room. He normally had no trouble sleeping because he knew he was perfectly capable of protecting himself should he be attacked in the night. Tonight was different. His thoughts lingered on Micaiah (_pale, pale skin, much too pale to be alive_) and her wellbeing (_who was the almost-killer?_).

Like Micaiah, Sothe's room had a single window. He preferred to leave it closed with the curtains drawn, but tonight it was wide open. Faint moonlight beamed, casting shadows. The curtains rustled, making the shadows dance. Sothe's hand drifted to the dagger hidden under his pillow as paranoia took over. (_Close the window, close it, close it now!_) He tried to move but soon realized he couldn't.

Had he fallen asleep without knowing it? Was he now having a lucid dream?

Sothe tried to force himself to wake (_if it was a dream_) because he was afraid he knew what the dream would be about: Micaiah would be in her room and she would be attacked; he could save her, but in this dream (_nightmare_) he wouldn't–he would be too late. As he regained his movement, Sothe thrashed, tried to pinch himself, anything to make himself wake up (_but what if it wasn't a dream?_).

Suddenly, he found his arms and legs trapped and it wasn't because he was paralyzed. Thick manacles were secured around his wrists and ankles.

Sothe wasn't and never had been the type to be frightened by petty things; he still wasn't. But now, shackled to his bed (_even if it was a nightmare_), a dense ball of bone-wracking fear settled in his stomach. (_What he first experienced was the calm before the storm: a shaky realization. Then, the storm hit him–no, rammed into him as hard as it could._)

As his thoughts foretold, Sothe began to tremble. His anchor–the calm within him that he needed (_to get out of here now or there would be no escape_)–deserted him. He kicked and squirmed and flailed, unaware of the sweat pouring from his body. Sothe's heart beat wildly; his mind raced. Desperation was the most prominent emotion within him at the moment. Though he probably shouldn't have, Sothe lost himself in a sea of terror, allowing his inner animalistic instinct to take over (_fight this, don't let it get you, you're strong, strong enough to destroy these handcuffs_).

Time ticked as Sothe struggled. He was unsure of how much time had passed; it could've been seconds, hours, even days he experienced within this nightmare, but he didn't know. All he focused on was the chilling fear overtaking him and the pressing need to break free.

Then, the flurry of frantic emotions passed. An odd calmness settled over him (_finally_), and he could think clearly. With the skin around his wrists and ankles rubbed raw and the waterfall of tears that stained his face, Sothe probably looked like a mess; but his mind was functioning again, and that was all that mattered for the time being.

Sothe immediately set about procuring the dagger under his pillow, but it wasn't there. His first reaction was to panic, but he was already past that. In his current state, he was able to notice the drying blood coating the walls, the disgusting smell in the air, the unidentifiable corpses cast to the side, and an odd familiarity this scene brought him. (_Micaiah was here with him, terrified, but why had she been brought here? Because–the sense of familiarity grew stronger, too hard to ignore for much longer–she was...Branded. "How interesting to have a Branded subject. I wonder how this will work on your kind."_)

He broke out in a cold sweat all over again. The laugh of that _disgusting filth_ rang in his ears; he now understood where he was. In this nightmare, Sothe was locked in one of Izuka's "labs". He thought Micaiah was here, but she wasn't; it was just his mind playing tricks again (_like it had been for the past few days_).

As soon as this realization bashed him over the head, the shackles disappeared and he was free-falling (_his room was slipping away, out of reach_)._  
_

His eyes flew open, pupils dilated with fear. Sothe was on the cold stone floor, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Trembling, Sothe felt his wrists (_they were perfectly fine_) and walked over to his bed.

Just as he was about to climb in again, a soft knock stopped him.

"Sothe?" Micaiah's muffled voice reached him, soothing the part of him that still believed she was also in Izuka's territory. "Are you okay? You were screaming."

"I'm fine," he rasped, noting how much it hurt to speak. "Fine."

"It doesn't sound like it," she said, flinging open the door.

He must have looked horrible because Micaiah (_amber eyes forever petrified in that accusing gaze_) rushed over to his side. She tucked him into bed and pressed yet another kiss to his forehead. _A few kisses more and Edward will start to get jealous_, Sothe thought dryly. Micaiah ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing it out. She whispered for him to not worry and just go to sleep because they'd catch the culprit soon enough. Her cool fingers closed his eyes (_the scent of peaches wafting around_), and she hugged him one more time._  
_

Her footsteps went away to his right, and Sothe heard the window being shut along with the firm closing of the curtains.

"Sleep well," she called before the door shut behind her.

* * *

Miles away from Daein, Naesala flew away from another tiring session of settling beorc-laguz disputes. Outside, the dark night sky was illuminated by the glowing moon. Naesala's wings flapped as he wandered around Sienne.

"Why did such a simple matter take so long?" he complained, though his voice was empty of any real frustration.

His mind wandered as his body did, taking his thoughts to the news Sanaki had brought to him: the Queen of Daein, the Priestess of Dawn, the Silver-Haired Maiden–Micaiah, her name was–had been attacked by an unknown assailant. He wondered what kind of person–beorc or laguz–could possibly manage to slip through Daein's defenses and strike at its heart.

In the end, thinking of nations, his mind and body wandered to the same place. With the cool night breeze brushing against his face, Naesala found himself before the Tower of Guidance, where he had finally freed his nation. A feeling of surreality replaced his lethargy. He still couldn't believe he was free of those senators' whims, having been under their control for such a long time. He also registered longing to return to his people, but he wouldn't–couldn't after all the atrocities he had committed. Under these two feelings laid pure joy, for this was where that infuriating Blood Pact had been torn to pieces along with the narcissistic Lekain.

What shook Naesala out of his bittersweet reminiscing was a faint snarling. He flew closer to the Tower and stopped when he realized what he was seeing. Disgust filled his heart as he made the connection between the scene before him and one he had witnessed a while ago.

_Perhaps this was the culprit to the Daein queen's near-death_, Naesala thought but quickly dismissed it, deciding the mere idea was absurd._  
_

As he flew away, though, the idea kept reappearing, and he was starting to think it wasn't so far-fetched.

* * *

**A/N:** Implied Micaiah/Edward was added...I have no idea why I did that just like how I don't exactly see the connection between my summary and my story.

Congrats to whoever can deduce the culprit just from this. You can feel good about it.


	4. Prelude

"Don't run," a repulsive voice cooed. "Come back here. It won't hurt, I promise; I'll make your pain go away."

Sothe couldn't place a face to the rotting figure (_it was Izuka, he was sure, Izuka had come back from the dead and would now haunt him_), but he scrambled away all the same.

Oh, _Ashera_, those fingers (_from the bone alone, he could tell they were slender and delicate_) reached for him and suddenly he couldn't move anymore. Those dead yellow-orange eyes stared deep into his soul (_he knew whose eyes he was seeing, he wished it wasn't her, please not her, not Micaiah, it's Izuka, not Micaiah!_), holding him in place._  
_

Fear crashed down on him like a rush of cold water. Shaky hands scrabbled for a knife (_that wasn't there because this was just a dream, all a dream_) as his legs carried him away from Izuka. Where he was going, it didn't matter (_as long as it was far, far away_).

"Can't you tell?" Izuka cried. "You're doomed, and Micaiah will be, too, if you stay here longer!"

Ignoring Izuka, Sothe turned and ran.

* * *

"What're you doing, Sothe?" Edward asked, one hand on the doorknob.

Sothe blinked once, then twice, reorienting himself. He was in front of Micaiah's bedroom, and Edward had answered. Why was he in front of Micaiah's and Edward's shared bedroom in the first place?

"I...don't know."

Foggy remnants of his dream drifted around his mind: a rotting figure; bright, amber eyes; and bony hands slowly reaching for him. Dread filled his being at the mere thought of the dream, so Sothe desperately tried remembering it, wanting to know the exact cause of his anxiety. No matter how hard he tried, the images kept slipping away until he could no longer remember just what had shaken him so badly.

"Uh, Sothe, you should probably get some rest. You know, come back later? Micaiah will be safe with me," Edward said.

"Yes, of course she will."

Sothe stepped away from the door and hurried back to his own room, completely aware of Edward's questioning eyes on his retreating back.

* * *

Once he returned to his room, Sothe alternated between sitting on the bed and pacing around the room while trying to recall his dream. He had heard a familiar voice, and he knew the person's identity; it was on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn't specify the owner of the voice. When he focused on other parts of the dream, Sothe knew he had felt fear (_ice-cold fear gripped him when he gazed into her eyes_) partly because of someone and partly for someone.

As the hours ticked by, Sothe only grew more and more frustrated. He knew who it was that he was worried for, but the rest of the dream's contents remained out of reach.

A few short raps at the door relieved Sothe from his dizzying thoughts. Outside, a soldier said, "Sir, a letter from Naesala is here for you."

Sothe opened the door and saw the soldier (_with a spear piercing his armor and blood staining his armor)_ saluting him with one hand and holding out an envelope with the other. He tore open the envelope and quickly scanned the contents, his eyes narrowing. After he ripped up the letter, Sothe went back inside his room and began throwing clothes and weapons inside a sack.

"Sir?" the soldier said, baffled by Sothe's behavior.

"Tell Micaiah I'm leaving for Sienne."

* * *

**A/N:** A short, unsatisfying chapter that I have had (the first part, anyway) for about a month. Apologies for the rather long wait and OOC-ness. I have been busy/not in a writing mood lately, and I've been trying to get back into FE10.


End file.
